


Buzzkill

by twelvepercentofaplan



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Humor, Literally just pure stupidity here, Stupidity, There is more than one raccoon in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvepercentofaplan/pseuds/twelvepercentofaplan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Rocket turns around with the mug in hand, looking for Quill but also looking for the sweetener (which is more important than Star-Dork at the moment.) But as Rocket looks around for the sugary substance, he does not catch a glimpse of Peter standing near the other counter across from this one at all. “Pete, what the hell? Are you-”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rocket drops the mug when his entire body goes tense.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Is he looking in a mirror?</em>
</p><p>In which Rocket wakes up and things aren't the way they should be on the Milano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buzzkill

**Author's Note:**

> PSA for anyone who cares: I deleted Thanks for the Armories for a second time for various reasons. Mostly coz they didn't seem as good as the other shit I'm doin' or coz they seemed incomplete to me.
> 
> Think of those as my test runs for writing these numbnuts.
> 
> But this one was one a lot of people said they liked quite a bit since it's so outta the ordinary and ridiculous. It's like the movie basically just snorted some crack right quick after it already took three shots of hard liquor.
> 
> Humor and stupidity is abound.

Y’know that feeling where static seems to be buzzing on your brain? It comes when you stare at a screen (like the one you’re reading off of) for hours on end? Or maybe when you’re literally out of your mind, zoned out and tired from all the pointless hours you’d spent binge watching your newly beloved TV show? Probably the pills you took an hour ago finally kicking in to dull away your headache, right?

Yeah, that’s how Rocket wakes up.

He’s not hurt, he’s not tired, he’s just feeling fuzzy in his head. The bright lights that greet him are irritating, forcing him the clench his pupils shut tightly once again, but they’re a minor annoyance at best.. Rocket sits up in his bed and arches his back, stretching his arms before scratching behind his ears. It seems strange, but he feels well-rested and not as tired as he tends to be when he awakens after a long night of… Huh.

Strangely enough, though,  Rocket doesn’t remember going to bed at all. He doesn’t remember how he got here under these covers and… where’s Groot, actually? He sleeps on Groot a damn good deal of the time. What the hell?

Rocket wets his mouth after a wide yawn and thinks back some more to the night before. Had he built any bombs? Had he added any modifications to his other weaponry or to the Milano’s numerous components? Maybe he’d gotten too drunk? No, that was definitely out of the question. The raccoon would have woken with a killer headache and a hangover straight out of the Kree’s home planet that was accompanied with serious dry mouth, bad breath, vomiting, and probably a somehow crankier attitude. But he doesn’t think of it too much.

He wants coffee.

Peter buys the crew’s coffee in abundance every time they visit Xandar, claiming that it is a reasonably low price and has an “amazing freaking taste, Rocket.” It’s not the best thing Rocket’s ever tasted, but Rocket still drinks it in the morning, because he does enjoy the way it tastes although it’s far from the best thing Rocket’s tasted. Golden Fuel Whiskey, though, is definitely something the raccoon knows is on that list. The drinkin of coffee is really just routine, a routine Rocket does not completely understand, like an age old instinct.

Rocket hops off of the bed and looks around the room before he asks, “Groot?” No response. Confused and knowing it’s far too early to deal with the possibility of Groot pulling a fast one on him, Rocket pads out into the main room as he calls out again, “Groot? Where ya at, bud? Gro-”

“Rocky!” a voice sings out in response with enthusiasm and excitement.

It’s too early for **_that_** , too.

It’s Peter’s voice, and it’s coming from the doorway on the right of the common area. It is an area that is just simply referred to as the galley.

Rocket gives a frustrated grunt at the nickname. “Shut up, ya jackass. Why the hell’re you up?” He passes through the doorway and looks to his right, expecting to see Peter there without any pants on like every other morning when he wakes up after Rocket will. But he sees nothing but an already full pot of coffee sitting on the counter. Surprised but definitely pleased, he jumps up quickly and opens up the nearest cupboard and grabs the biggest porcelain mug he can find before he tiptoes his way over all of their leftover dishes from… whatever they’d eaten last night toward the coffee pot. “Thanks for makin’ coffee, dickweed. Where the hell are you?” Rocket asks as he pours the black liquid, not thinking to turn around and find Quill with his own eyes.

“ _ **Behind**_ you, stupid.”

Rocket turns around with the mug in hand, looking for Quill but also looking for the sweetener (which is more important than Star-Dork at the moment.) But as Rocket looks around for the sugary substance, he does not catch a glimpse of Peter standing near the other counter across from this one at all. “Pete, what the hell? Are you-”

Rocket drops the mug when his entire body goes tense.

Is he looking in a mirror?

The creature standing on the opposite counter with firm shoulders and a stupid grin radiates an energy of pure goofiness that Rocket only knows from one person. But Rocket has never seen this guy a day in his entire life. But this being looks almost EXACTLY like himself, and that includes the similarly fluffy tail that Rocket has. Except that his fur isn’t as dark brown as Rocket’s, a slightly red flare coming off of it in the light, they look to be the same being. He’s wearing a baggy t-shirt that dangles loosely past his knees and resembles a dress and, from Rocket’s guess, absolutely no pants, a mug similar to the one Rocket had just shattered clenched tightly between his fingers.

“Why’d you drop your coffee, Butter Fingers?”

This fucking thing is talking in Peter’s **_voice_**.

Holy shit.

Is this…?

Rocket cranes his neck forward and squints his eyes as he inspects the fluffy creature. “Quill? Star-Dork? Idiot? Wait-”

“Rocket, it’s too early for the insults. Yeah, it’s me. You want this sugar or-”

Rocket doesn’t know how, but he finds himself suddenly flying across the room and onto the raccoon-like creature in front of him. Coffee goes everywhere, splattering the floor and covering the creature that Rocket does not know as the two tumble off of the counter and onto the sticky ground. Rocket pins this other raccoon by the wrists, pressing his knees down onto his chest with all of his weight despite the creature’s wiggling and cries of protest.

“Who are you and where the hell is Peter freakin’ Quill?!” the alpha raccoon demands through clenched teeth, the two practically nose to nose.

“Dude! Rocket, what the hell?! It’s ME! Peter! Star-Lord!”

“You’re a freakin’...!” Rocket struggles to find the words. “You-You’re a me! Ya ain’t Pete!”

“Yes, I am! Get your nails outta my wrist!”

“You ain’t Pete! You’re a freakin’ raccoon ‘r whatever!”

“Yes, I’m Peter!” the being yells back, eyes wide as Rocket’s grip on his wrists tightens.

“Prove it, ya big-” Rocket begins to challenge him when suddenly-

“OOH CHILD, THINGS ARE GONNA GET EASIER. OOH, CHILD, THINGS’LL GET BRIGHTER!” the raccoon below Rocket half-yells, half-sings. “IIIII’M HOOKED ON A FEELING. I’M-OW, OW! ROCKET! STOP! NAILS! NAILS!” Rocket’s grip relaxes slightly as the loud, out of key singing continues, I’M YOUR CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-”

“Cherry bomb,” Rocket finishes the lyric in a whisper, a very anticlimactic way to finish the should-be screeched at the top of your lungs phrase. “Freakin’ ‘Cherry Bomb.’” Holy shit. This was Quill. No one else, aside from the other four residents on the ship, knows any of the songs on Peter’s tapes except for the human. “There is no way in-”

The red-furred raccoon gives a smile that says “The one and only!” and gives a little nod before he says, “Rocket, it’s me, dummy. Don’t you remember? I’m like you now. Accident back on our last mission, remember?” Peter points toward his face with both of his hands and gives a wide, toothy smile that would make every six year old girl that saw him scream and point out how “adorable” he is. “Turned me into a raccoon!”

“Wait… wait, _**what**_?” Rocket rises off of Peter slowly, eyes scanning the form that still lays on the floor beneath his knees before he regains balance on shaky knees. No, Rocket doesn’t remember their latest mission at all, not even in the slightest. “But… but, how? I don’t remember a thing.” The raccoon takes a few steps back and scratches his snout in thought. “I rea-QUILL!” Rocket covers his eyes with both hands after seeing something that definitely confirms Peter is not wearing any pants.

Quill may be a raccoon, but for whatever reason, a certain organ didn’t take on the same form as Rocket’s for… whatever reason. Usually it’s for the sake of the plot, and it's usually not given a too plausible explanation. So yep. Sake of the plot. Deadpool might as well pop up and narrate this for you, too.

“What?”

“Cover that shit up, man! Put on some god damn pants!”

“Pants? Rocket, what- oh. Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Peter scrambles to his feet quickly, the long shirt going back down to his knees. “Look, it’s gone. No raccoon pen-”

“Pete, shut the hell up. Keep that,” Rocket points at Peter’s lower region accusingly, “in your freakin’ pants and tell me why you’re a god damn-damn-”

“Someone like you?”

“Duh, jackass! What else do I want ya to go on about? Your sex life?"

“Well, there was this girl back on-”

“Shut up. Rhetorical question, you idiot.”

“I am **_Groot_**?” groans a tired, sleepy voice that seems to be a bit higher than usual.

Two pairs of raccoon eyes shoot toward the doorway where a form just a foot or so taller than both of them is standing. It’s Groot, looking tired with a lazy smile on his face, his gaze flicking to Rocket with sleepy eyes. Rocket would usually ignore Groot looking at him like this, because Groot does it every morning, but Groot is noticeably shorter. Like, he’s only four feet tall. The fuck? Did this bastard have to go regrow himself again? And why?

But the short stature of the flora colossus isn’t the only thing the raccoon is concerned by. It’s the look on Groot’s face. There is a hint of something in the look that makes Rocket uncomfortable glimmering in the plant man’s eyes.

It almost looks as if Groot isn’t just looking at Rocket, but staring at every fiber of Rocket’s being, from his head to his toes. The tree lets out a throaty, somewhat quiet sound that sounds like a chuckle of satisfaction. Rocket nearly shudders slightly, gaze switching from Peter “I’m Now A Raccoon” Quill and the short tree being. Was Groot… wait, was Groot, as Peter would say, “checking Rocket out?”

“Groot? Why the hell are ya so short?” Rocket raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Like, ya were that short when ya started growin’ more but why are you-”

“I am Groot.” _We’re almost the same height. Who cares?_ Groot shuffles toward Rocket, his entire form moving as sleepily as his face looks, reaches out a hand, and goes to scratch Rocket’s head.

Now usually Rocket won’t protest a head scratching from Groot. He likes it. But Rocket cringes when he notices something slightly yellow on the trees palm and on his long, wooden fingers. Is that… oh, fuck. Rocket knows that Groot shoots pollen when things get a lil’ wonky down under for the flora colossus, but did he just…?

Is Groot, um... y'know, the masturbating thing?

Can Groot even do that?

“Uh, no. Get away, freak,” Rocket pushes the tree’s hand away quickly, ducking under his arm and taking a place at the now-raccoon Peter Quill’s side. “What the hell is going on?! Why are you like this?” Rocket gestures to Peter before pointing toward Groot, “Why is Groot only that tall and lookin’ at me weird?! What the hell happened in a freakin’ night?!”

“Why are you yelling, Ro-there is coffee **_everywhere_**.”

Rocket looks up and sees Gamora, and thankfully, she is not looking any different. Still green, still taller than himself, still looking ready to kill with just the twitch of her finger.

“Gamora! Never thought I’d be so glad to see ya. Can ya explain to me why Pete’s a-a, uh-”

Gamora gives a confused look. “Rocket, do you not remember our mission? Something… we have no idea what, but something happened with you both and now he’s like that.”

“What freakin’ mission are you guys talkin’ about?” The frustrated raccoon throws his hands in the air and clenches his fists tightly, nails digging holes into his palms. “Seriously, I have no freakin’ clue what happened yesterday! Did we go drinkin’ after?! Did I get shitfaced wasted?! I don’t feel like it…”

Peter’s voice comes right into Rocket’s ear, something that startles Rocket a bit since he and Peter are never at the same height, “No, Rocket, we came right back here after I turned into this.” Peter laughs a little as he whips his tail around his body and holds it with both hands outwardly. “Look! I even got the tail, dude!”

“Pete, shut the hell up. I really don’t care. I have one, too. Not that great.”

“You also forgot to mention,” Peter goes on, “that everyone stares at you when you walk down the street because you’re so fluffy. Like nine million girls were practically drooling over me. Lotsa head scratching from kids, too. Why don’t you like that, man? It feels awesome!”

“That’s not somethin’ I like either, Quill. Shut the-”

“And why the hell didn’t you tell me,” Peter jumps up onto the counter with agility that Rocket is also familiar with before kneeling into a crouching position, “that you’re so agile and fast? This is awesome!”

Rocket gives Peter an annoyed look. “Quill, shut up. Seriously, I’m- **_can ya not squat like that_**?" The raccoon flings his hands over his eyes and groans irritably, "Dammit, do I really need to force some freakin’ pants of mine onto ya?!” Rocket begs as he covers his eyes again.

“I would prefer you pulling pants off of Peter,” comes a low, hoarse whisper from the doorway.

Rocket uncovers his eyes and shoots a wide-eyed look of bewilderment that he shares with Quill in the direction of Gamora. “WHAT?!” the two raccoons yell out in unison.

“I am going to find Drax, do not listen to me, I did not say anything, keep those pants off of Peter, goodbye lovebirds,” Gamora says this all very quickly before she slips out of the room.

“Did she just-”

Peter hops down from the counter and lands on his feet onto the coffee-strewn floor as he says, “Yeah, yeah. She did. I mean, yeah, I’m a raccoon now, but-”

Rocket clamps a clawed hand over Peter’s mouth. “Stop. Stop makin' it a point.” Rocket looks over at Groot, who is giving Peter a death-glare straight from Hell. “Groot, what the hell is-”

The tree points a finger at Rocket, eyes still locked directly onto the new raccoon at his best friend’s side, as he firmly states in a gruff, not very Groot-like manner, “I am Groot.”

And Rocket freezes when he fully realizes what Groot had just said.

_Rocket is mine. Do not try anything, Peter._

“Uh,” Peter grasps Rocket’s shoulder with a nervous hand, “what’s he saying? I don’t like that look, that’s not a very Groot-y look.”

“Uh,” Rocket looks to Pete and then back to Groot quickly, “nothin’. Just c’mon. Ya need pants. You’re really freakin’ me out by not bein’ dressed right.”

“You’re not dressed right, either!” Rocket rolls his eyes at Peter’s gesturing toward his clothing choice. It’s just a black hoodie with orange accents on the arms with matching pants from the infamous, yet-to-be-shown-in-this-anthology shopping trip with Quill’s units.

“What, cause it’s not my freakin’ orange crap? I change my clothes when I sleep, Pete. I can’t wear the same clothes every damn day, ya idiot.”

“So I will wear whatever I want.” Peter crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue. “You aren’t-” Rocket grabs up Peter’s new tail and pulls, knocking him onto his back, and drags him out of the kitchen-esque area and toward his own room.

“You are going to wear clothes because I hate lookin’ at your freakin’ dick. Shut up and c’mon to my room.”

“Rock-ow, ow. Rocket, please just-!”

“Shut your mouth and deal with it. Sucks to be my height, don’t it?”

“No. I prefer it, actually. It lets me get on your level and experience life from a new, much smaller perspective.”

“Shut the hell up."

They reach Rocket’s room shortly, avoiding eye contact with Gamora as the one raccoon drags the other. Rocket slams the door behind himself and proceeds to lock it as well before turning to Peter. “Pete. Something. Is. Wrong.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Peter says as he sits on the ground with his legs crossed and his tail in his hands. “You put a lock on your door and you pulled the crap out of my tail.”

Rocket blinks twice in surprise. “You’re kiddin’ me, right? You’re like me. Gamora just told me NOT to put pants on ya and called us ‘lovebirds’. Groot’s-Groot’s lookin’ at me weird and sayin’ weird shit.”

Peter gives a shrug. “I don’t know, Rocket. I don’t know how this,” he gestures to himself, “happened. I can’t understand Groot for shit, and I really have no idea why Gamora would be acting weird about-”

Rocket pinches the bridge of his nose (muzzle?) in frustration. “Look, I don’t wanna talk ‘bout her. And I don’t wanna talk about Groot. I want ya to tell me what happened yesterday. But first, put on some god damn clothes.”

“None of my clothes fit me, genius,” Peter says as he rises to his feet and brushes himself off.

“Ya can wear mine for now,” Rocket responds as he turns toward a pile of clothes that he leaves on the floor and begins to dig through it. He glances back and looks at Peter’s new form, taking in the fact that he seems to be a bit taller than Rocket along with a bit more weight onto him, although Rocket wouldn’t call Peter in this raccoon form ‘fat’. “Dunno if they’ll fit ya exactly right. Ya look like you’re not as thin as me,” he adds with a short laugh. Okay, maybe he would.

“Well, I mean, thanks a-hey! What’re you saying?!” Peter crosses his arms in an offended manner.

“I’m just sayin’ that you don’t look-”

“Are you calling me fat, Rocket?”

Rocket rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, Quill. Shut-”

“You are so rude!” Peter cries out.

“Shut up and take these!” Rocket grabs up a random black tank top and a pair of orange pants similar to those he wears all the time.

Peter doesn’t exactly catch them, the shirt wrapping around his face and the pants hitting his face with a dull thud. “Where do you get all of these clothes?” is where Peter’s casual tone returns, seemingly forgetting Rocket had insulted him.

“I… I have no idea, I’ve never seen those in my life,” Rocket points to the pants. Now he just has clothes randomly appearing before himself? Not that it’s a bad thing. It’s just another addition to this insane world he’s in.

“Well,” Peter says after he pulls them on one leg at a time quickly, “they’re not that comfortable. Kinda tight. You’re so thin it’s wrong.”

“Suck it, I don’t care. I’m healthy… I think. Anyways, now no one has to see ya with your whoopity-doo just hangin’ around,” Rocket retorts.

Peter pulls the enormous shirt from over his head with a bit of a struggle ensuing because of the massive form, and Rocket notices that his assumption that the new raccoon is not as thin as himself is correct. Hopefully the shirt he’s offered fits. But that’s not the part that sticks to Rocket’s brain.

What catches his eye are the similar pieces of metal sticking out of the thick coat of red-ish blond on Peter’s chest. He really is a practical replica of Rocket, except for the obviously different color of his fur and size of his body, and it even goes as far as the implants. Rocket’s heart sinks slightly at the thought of Peter being in the same condition as himself.

“Quill?”

“Hm?” He looks up at Rocket, stopping midway through putting the sleeveless top on with just his head poking through the wide collar. “What?”

“Got a kinda weird question,” Rocket says.

“Okay…? What is it?”

“Is there-is there shit in your back?”

Peter raises a bushy eyebrow. “My back?” He tries to see what Rocket is talking about, turning his neck as far around as possible. “I-I don’t know. I can’t see it.”

Rocket moves one of his fingers in a circular motion, “Pete, just turn around.”

Peter does so, still grumbling on about how the pants that Rocket had offered are uncomfortable, and Rocket’s suspicions are confirmed. He sees them sticking out, the bare skin around them bright red and terrifyingly familiar. “It feels kinda warm right in the middle here,” Peter remarks as he tries to point out the spot with a tiny finger. “Is there something there? Like… like-”

“Yeah… yeah, don’t feel nice, I know. Look just like mine…” Rocket looks away from the metal pieces in his friend’s back as he grumbles, “Sorry ya gotta have ‘em now, too. Put the freakin’ shirt on, Pete. Hurts to look at ya.” There’s a brief pregnant silence before Rocket adds, “I mean, not that that’s somethin’ different.”

“I hope you meant my back and not my handsome, fuzzy face.” Peter pulls his arms through the holes on the sides before pulling the rest of the shirt down to fully cover his upper body.  He turns to face Rocket as he looks down at himself, inspecting his appearance with unconvinced raccoon eyes. “Do I look stupid?”  
It looks kind of funny, really, because Rocket only sees his clothes on himself. But Peter doesn’t look completely ridiculous, although the sleeveless top bunches up near the bottom because of Peter’s different physique compared to Rocket. “You’re wearing pants, so no, it’s fine. Now,” Rocket hops up onto his bed and sits with his legs crossed, “tell me what the hell happened yesterday.”

Peter follows suite, sitting across from Rocket as he nestles into a comfortable position and curls his tail around his body. Peter’s ambition to simply jump up onto his bed uninvited irritates Rocket slightly, but he doesn’t pay much attention to the feeling as Peter begins, “Well, here’s the thing… we really don’t know why this happened. Me and you were on this metal bridge sorta thing, it collapsed coz we’re both too awesome for a catwalk.”

Rocket huffs.

“And then we both fell into some stupid green crap.” He makes a face of discomfort at the memory. “Kinda slimy and such… so after we did the thing, whatever the mission was-” Rocket slaps himself in the face when he hears that. “What?”

“No one knows what the hell we did yesterday. Are we sufferin’ from amnesia?”

Peter just brushes off Rocket’s frustrated question like he would brush off anything else unimportant to him. “Well, anyways, we were heading to collect our units and en route there, this happened. It hurt like all hell, and no one had any idea what was going on. So just me and Drax went, even though Gamora was saying I should stay here and show you for some reason?”

Rocket gives a blank look. “Why? Cause we’re the exact same? Or cause she’s got some weird _**fantasy**_ in her head?”

Peter shrugs, looks down and fiddles with his tail as he says, “Not too sure. But all we got were stares from **_everyone_** on the street. Probably because I wasn’t wearing any pants... Drax has a girlfriend now, ya know that?”

“Why don’t I remember you-wait, **_Drax_**? Drax did what?” Rocket gives a look of pitiful frustration. “He’s got a freakin’ girlfriend?”

“I almost got one, too! Turns out she’s not into short guys or something.”

Rocket knows that isn’t the real reason, but he doesn’t let Peter know that. “Oh my-”

Three knocks and an “I am Groot” later, the handle to the door rattles quickly. _Rocket, let me in, please._

“Groot, no, hang on. Me ‘n’ Pete are talkin’.”

“I am Groot?” _Please, Rocket? It’s important_.

Rocket growls and gives an eyeroll. “Groot, I asked for one damn minute. **_Hold_**. **_On_**.”

There is a short, pregnant pause before Groot responds in a disheartened, sad tone, “I… am... Groot?” _Rocket, are you… and Peter… are you **cheating** on me_?

Rocket’s eyes grow so wide that Quill's shocked that they pop out of his skull and roll across the floor. “Stop this shit right frickin’ **_now_**.” The angered raccoon flies off of the bed, throws the door open, and looks right into Groot’s sad face as he roars loudly, “No, we aren’t doin’ anything! What is wrong with you?!?! I’m not cheatin’ on anybody, ya jackass! If anyone here’s cheatin’, it’s probably Drax! He’s got a freakin’ girlfriend or some shit!”

“Indeed I am,” comes Drax’s voice. “And she is only one of the many.”

Gamora walks into the room just as Peter saunters out of Rocket’s room in his new clothes, and her eyes grow wide. “Peter is in Rocket’s clothes.” She squints her eyes with suspicion as she whispers, “They **_must_** have done something together.”

“Gamora, chill,” Rocket pulls on his ears in anger. “What the hell is with you?!”

“I am a raccoon!”

“I am Groot!” _Peter, you’re a bitch_.

“Peter and Rocket should get together.”

“I would like an explanation of the lyrics to the song ‘Hooked on a Feeling’, Quill.”

“I’m **_still_** a raccoon!”

“Rocket, if you were able to get pregnant, you and Peter would have the cutest children.”

“I am _**Groot**_!” _Your kids would be ugly! Have mine instead, Rocket!_

“Groot, stop looking at me like that! Gamora, stop-”

“I am G-” _Stop being a husband stealer, Pet-_

“The children though! They-”

“Friend Rocket is not fit to birth children! He is male!”

“I’m a raccoon!”

“BUT THEIR BABIES-”

“I AM G-” **_ROCKET, LET ME IMPREGNATE-_**

* * *

 

Y’know that feeling where you awaken after feeling like you’re falling? It’s almost like something is pulling you under, but your body riots in response? It’s a jolt that is terrifying but it is followed by a wonderful sense of relief? Yeah, that’s how Rocket wakes up, and that numb feeling is still on his head.

But this time, he doesn’t get up for coffee. Instead, he lays on his back, an awful ache pounding on his skull and a terrible, sickening cramp in the pit of his belly. Dry mouth and a fuzzy feeling's there, too. Hangover? Hangover.

Okay, what the hell had **_happened_** last night?

“Groot?” His voice is quiet in the darkness, yet it still resembles that of a crackling, broken down machine due to the lack of moisture. “Groot?” Rocket croons a bit louder.

“I am Groot," Groot answers, seemingly reading Rocket's mind.  _Yes, you are hungover. You were quite literally knocked out by a drink. Are you alright?_

Drinking. Yes, drinking. That’s what they’d been doing.

“”M fine,” Rocket mumbles in fluent Liar language. “Just a little fuzzy feelin’... what happened? I know, stupid to ask, but what the fuck happened last night? How much did I have?”

And then Groot explained the situation in a series of quiet “I am Groot”s and fabulous arm waves that anyone else without Rocket’s astounding eyesight would have been able to make it out in the pitch blackness of the room.

To be short and sweet (so one half Rocket and one half Groot), while the five of them had gone out for a celebratory drink, Rocket had finished but two shots when Peter jokingly dared Rocket to order this planet’s specialty, which had been named “the Buzzkill.” It is known to be an incredibly powerful alcohol that could get even Peter knocked out with just one shot. But Rocket’s stubbornness took hold, and he figured he could take it like a man. But it took an awful toll on the raccoon. In just a few minutes, Rocket stumbled off of the seat, knocking the glass down with him, shattering it before he mumbled something inaudible and losing consciousness on the floor.

Rocket assumes that the gauze on his shoulder is covering a wound from broken glass, so he doesn’t ask Groot about it. Instead, he asks a question he’s never expected to ask Groot, “Ya don’t wanna do anything… anything, uh, sexual to me, do ya, Groot?”

Groot looks stunned as he stifles a laugh. “I am Groot?” _Of course not. I do not participate in such acts with any living being._ Rocket hears the tree mans limb creak as he rises and trudges over to his bed, a wooden hand coming and scratching at a spot behind his ear. “ ** _I_** am Groot?” _**Why** do you ask?_

“Weird dreams, Groot. Sorry ‘bout that.” Despite knowing this entire event was simply a manifestation of the awful drinks he’d had the night before, Rocket still asks a flurry of questions. “Is Pete still a human? Drax is still single, right? Gamora ain’t having no opinion on me ‘n’ Pete bein’ togeth-”

Groot raises an eyebrow (or, uh, bark piece? Bark eye? Eye bark?) in confusion. “I am… I am Groot...?” _I… Everyone is normal, Rocket. What gives you the impression that everyone is either in a relationship, not their usual species, or…?_

Rocket just shakes his head to force Groot to draw his hand off of his head and continues to stare at the ceiling in the darkness as he says, “Nothin’. Just good t’know everything’s normal. Like, as normal as it gets with us anyways. Rather have it normal than Quill bein’ a freakin’ guy like me. And glad Drax isn’t datin’... actually, that wouldn’t change much. Maybe date Gamora?”

Groot laughs a little. “I am Groot?” _Why do you say that?_

“I dunno. Seems like they’d be good for each other… why’re we talkin’ ‘bout this? I need somethin’ for my migraine.”

So the two head out, Rocket keeping his eyes mere slits as to avoid the light that will just increase the pains in his head tenfold. He trudges into the kitchen with Groot, the smell of that stupid coffee already made. Someone else is already awake.

“Who made coffee?” Rocket asks aloud, looking to Groot for an answer.

“I did, stupid."

Rocket enters through the doorframe, and can’t help a sigh of relief that escapes his lips when he sees Peter standing there without pants on in a completely human form. Peter gives the raccoon a look of confusion when Rocket breathes a sigh of relief and huffs out in pure joy.

“ _ **Thank**_ **_fuck_**.”

Peter looks to Groot for an answer. But the tree can only shrug at Peter in response.

“Uh, Rocket? Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Just glad to see you’re not wearin’ pants and you’re a human. Just give me my coffee. I’m hungover and I hate all of yas for lettin’ me even consider takin’ the god damn drink.”

“What if I told you that you insisted?” Peter offers.

“Shuddup,” the raccoon grumbles irritably, because he knows Quill’s right.

Rocket then proceeded to hide himself in his room for the day with Groot as he tinkered with weaponry and tried to get that annoying image of Peter the Raccoon out of his head, Gamora insisting the two have children, Drax’s very short remarks about being in a relationship with multiple women at once, and Groot trying to… come on to him.

But he had to admit, that dream was a lot better than a night terror that could have come to him. Maybe he’ll take a Buzzkill again and see what sort of destruction would get unleashed another night.

For bein’ called a Buzzkill, Rocket thinks with a smirk despite his pounding skull and upset stomach, it sure as hell don’t live up to its name.

**Author's Note:**

> Dumb shit, I know. But it gave me an excuse to write Pete as a raccoon and I enjoyed that quite a bit. I'll probably never explore the idea again, but the idea of Rocket havin' another 'coon buddy's always funny to me for whatever reason.
> 
> Speaking of Rocket and more raccoons raising Hell, go read Risky Business. Rocket's there as well as three other numbnuts who I've come to love to death (and yes, they're real, actual characters. We didn't make 'em up.) My co-author divisionten and I are both absolutely loving writing this fantastic disaster and I want as many people to read it as possible since I'm damn proud of it myself.
> 
> I may or may not be uploading more of the crappy stories from the 'Thanks for the Armories' anthology as time goes by. Some I'm considering, such as 'It's Gonna Get Better' and 'Broken', but others are definitely not gonna see the light'a day again.
> 
> Comments are fan-flarkin'-tastic.


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